Kyosti knew they were almost at the Seer’s Camp when the smells of civilization started to reach his nose: fires, cooking food, and latrines. He had wondered before what the Seer’s Camp would be like, how much of it would be familiar, how much of it would be foreign. The Camp, of course, was far away from Chithoobra, even if it was still in the empire. However, the Seers were descended from people who had once been Innis; he might find similarities here with the Icefields.
Kyosti awoke.
Everything was white, and for several moments he blinked, wondering what was wrong with his eyes.
Then a winter bird nearby twittered, and he remembered.
Kyosti tightened his hold on Sanji's wrists until it must have been painful. “That’s not true,” he insisted, blinking rapidly. He had just been momentarily stunned, that’s all . . . this happened sometimes with snow blindness . . .
Kyosti went north. It wasn’t ideal, because the queen would find him easier the sunnier it was, but he had this vague idea of getting to Sorn Iorn. Because of how hot and deserty it was there, the Chith Empire sent many of its Innis captives there to work; the Innis simply didn’t know how to survive in such a place, and therefore couldn’t escape. If he could pass the knife onto another Innis there, maybe they could get it back to the Icefields safely.
Finally, the guard led Kyosti away from the silent queen and down the hanging stair to another secret door that led to the docks. There were no more words exchanged between them, and the guard left without looking back.
Mombasa noticed, after declaring his thirtieth patient in a row dead, that he couldn’t draw in a full breath.
As Galveston said, a guard knocked on his door in the early hours of the morning. Kyosti grabbed his pack and answered immediately; he hadn’t slept all night anyway. He caressed a couple of his plants goodbye, locked his door and hid the key where Rodriguez would find it.
Rodriguez sat back in his chair. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and shadows cast by a flickering candle played across his face. He did not say anything for several minutes.
Kyosti had no sleep that night. He had gotten home from guard duty after dark and then sat at his table, chin in his hand, nursing a drink while his mind whirred ever faster. It was a bleary-eyed but freshly-shaven archer who turned up at the palace gates as the sun rose above the line of the trees. The guards at the doors were expecting him, watching with curious eyes as he took the trail towards the queen’s courtroom.
Don’t be myself, Kyosti thought as he came under the shadow of the palace wall. Right.
He wished he could say that was the first time he had heard this advice.
Kyosti Romalidan lowered his bow slowly, the arrow still shivering in the center of the target.
“And that’s how it’s done, soldiers,” he announced.
